“Truth!” Patrick calls from behind me as I hurry toward the ring, and I am not alone. Half the damn spectators are doing the same.
When I see Frank and the other man smiling down at Ranger, and then I see Ranger open his eyes, smile, and flip Tobias the bird, I stop.
Tobias stands, reaches out his hand, and Ranger takes it. When he pulls him up, they do the whole bro hug thing.
I get pushed into the ring, and although I’ve never been afraid of crowds, right now, fear—no, scratch that; panic—sets in. I try to turn and push my way back through the crowd to get to Patrick, but I get knocked back against the ring, my head hitting something, and I start to lose focus.
“This is not how I’m going out!” I yell as I lunge forward, only to be pushed back, twist my ankle, and start to fall.
When I feel myself being jacked up by one arm and my feet hit the mat, I cringe as a sharp pain shoots up my leg. I look up to thank whoever helped me and into very angry, very swollen blue eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I feel my eyes start to burn and my bottom lip starts to quiver.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he growls as he looks over my head.
I watch as he scans the crowd, puts two fingers in his mouth, and nods toward the back. I think it’s the back, anyway. Being disoriented, one never knows. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me to follow him, but I pull back.
“I don’t have time to babysit you!”
I force myself to limp across the ring behind him.
Once at the ropes, he looks back. “Climb through and stay up on the mat.” He holds the ropes apart as I slide through, feeling dizzy as I look down. Then he jumps down and looks up at me. “Come on!”
When I hesitate, he holds out a bloodied, bruised hand. I take it and jump down, crying out when I land.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don’t feel very good,” I tell him as I try to move forward and stumble. Pain and I have never been friends, but never have I ever felt like I was going to throw up because of it.
He catches me, sweeps my legs out from under me, and lifts me up. Then he jogs as he carries me toward the back of the building and away from the crowd.
Please put me down, I internally plead when my stomach begins to lurch.
“You throw up on me, and I’m going to drop you on your ass,” he hisses as he turns and slams into a door, pushing it open.
“Just put me down!” I yell, holding my stomach with both hands now.
When he finally does, he grabs the back of my head, forcing it down and toward a sink. I begin to throw up.
His hands gripping my hair roughly, he starts blasting me. “You feel like a badass now, huh?” he snaps as my stomach lurches again. “Getting drunk and acting like a little thug tonight.”
I throw up.
“Breaking into my fucking house and sneaking around like some entitled, little rich bitch who wants the shit she left behind on demand?”
I throw up again.
“Then show up here like a little nymph, looking at me like you want my dick, and when I’m not paying attention, doing the same with Harrison?”
And again.
“Keep your shit up, and I’ll file an order of protection on your ass.”
“Shut up!” I yell at him as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“No, you shut the fuck up.” He pulls my hair back and turns my head so I am looking in his direction. “Stay the fuck away from me and my friends, you hear me?”
“I hate you,” I snarl at him.
“Feeling’s mutual.” He lets go of my hair.
“I hate you!” I yell.
He steps back, looking me up and down like I’m disgusting.
“I hate you!” I scream.
His face loses the disdain, and he leans in, looking from one of my eyes to the next. “You hit your fucking head?”
“Did you get dropped on yours, you arrogant, self-centered assh—” I cover my mouth as I turn and throw up once again.
He grips my hair again, gentler this time, as he pulls it away from my face.
“I don’t need your fucking help!”
“You have a knot on the back of your head, and your pupils are jacked. You’re throwing up and probably have a fucking concussion. Good job, Steel. You come to watch a fight and end up in worse shape than the actual fighters.”
“Yeah, well, your face is so fucked up you’re probably going to be showering alone for the foreseeable future!” I lean against the sink, reach up, and turn the faucet, trying to rinse the vomit out of my mouth.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean shit when you’re packing the uppercase Ds and don’t lay with little, spoiled rotten high school brats.”
I look back at him and force a laugh. “Oh, that’s right; you’ve got dirty Dee, with her shitty attitude and her old lady snatch. Go you, Easton the ‘Experience’.” I feel my stomach tighten and turn, gripping the counter, knowing I’m going to throw up again.
“Exactly why, no matter how your eyes beg me to touch you, you’ll never get that experience,” he snaps.
“Newsflash, asshole, I’d never fuck a thug, money or not, and you are a thug. As far as interest in you, I never even knew you had blue eyes until today.” I inhale a couple slow, steady breaths then push myself up. I turn around and look up at him. “And if you think I didn’t notice how you looked for me tonight, you’re wrong.”
“Get the fuck over yourself. I was just watching my back because I had no idea when or where you were going to show up next.”
“Hey!” I hear Patrick’s voice boom into the room. “What the fuck is going on!”
I narrow my eyes at Tobias, and he narrows his back at me. Then he turns around.
“Your girl fucked up her ankle, and I’m pretty sure she has a concussion. Her pupils are jacked, and she’s been throwing up.”
Patrick hurries toward me. “T, the fuck was all five-foot-nothing of you gonna do in that ring?”
“I was hoping to get a closer look when Ranger and his boys beat the shit out of Tobias.” I take a step and wince.
“Let’s get you out of here.” He turns, squats down, and looks over his shoulder. “Hop on.”
Chapter Six
Idiom
Actions speak louder than words.
Truth
I prefer discussions.
I wake with the worst headache I’ve ever had, a throbbing ankle, listening to Patrick snore in the bed across the room, and Brisa is curled up next to me like an annoying little blanket-hogging kitten.
When we got home last night, we were all ready to tell my parents the truth about what happened. We thought it was inevitable with me limping. But when Dad wasn’t waiting up for us, we decided that fate had pushed us into the safe zone and all hurried to my room. Brisa and Patrick took turns poking me every hour or so to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep, and even though I feel like I’m half dead, I am completely alive and still very, very angry at Tobias fucking Easton.
I roll over and grab my phone to check the time—it’s freaking noon—and see a couple messages from numbers that I don’t recognize.